Riham Adly

Riham Adly is a mother of two, a creative writing instructor and an emerging writer from Egypt with several short stories published in online lit magazines. Riham currently hosts her own book club “Rose’s Cairo book club” to provide refuge to those avid bibliophiles reading fiction in English.

A Room With A View (August 18, 2017) Eternity was dying, Felicity wept and Prosperity went bankrupt… On the opposite side of the street, right outside Angel’s Diner, a man licked his ice-cream, his Rolex glinting like a ghost’s glassy eye in the afternoon sun. He stood like a watershed moment ripping its way through the consciousness of the Universe. “I think he’s out to kill someone. Yup, an assassin, a hitman, that’s what he is.” “E, stop being paranoid.” In the blue-green living room, the upholstery bolstered with a dead shade of seaweed. Above the mantle, a framed photo of E in her youth stood in an awkward stance, dangling by a thread. You saw blue eyes the color of diamonds in hushed velvet. All stars had to be blue. The night was blue too, only a different hue. Blue was the color of E’s soul. Eternity’s soul. “E’s right. Look at him; he’s just like my husband, maybe it’s him!” “And how’s that even possible?” “Joe used to remind me all the time that he never helped at home because it was his job to make the dishes and the clothes dirty. That’s what men do.” Felicity, as usual, went off kilter, like a comedian in a cemetery. She had a distinct smell about her, the smell of the sea going sour. She wept even when she ate chocolate, even when she smiled. Her tears like sticky glue hardening on one’s finger were hard to remove or stop. Joe left fifteen years after tying the knot. The knot choked him, he had said. He could not breathe any longer. “And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places.” “E, you’re quoting Dahl, again.” “The dead always quote Dahl.” “But you’re not dead, not yet. This quote was about finding magic, besides you have money, that’s about enough magic.” Prosperity was all black and white and gray and even green. A fortissimo and a pezzo piano. She hated shrimp cocktails but loved watching people get stung by jellyfish. She moved out to the window, her footsteps echoing in her head. There’s still time. Can I stop it? Can I stop him? Should I? “I can never sleep. If only I can sleep.” “Everything makes me weep. If only I can laugh over something that’s for once not sad.” That head was clear now, no more kettle steam fogging her perception. Prosperity nodded from her watchtower. Something red, pointed, pinned, pinpointed. Eternity fell first, her Apocalypse overdo. Felicity’s weeping Adagio, slowed, till it stopped. Prosperity stood there, satisfied, glowing from within, like a proud parent. She was always there for them, ALWAYS, even now. Her love dressed in the darkest of clothes. It was a tough decision, but weren’t they in better places now? Both, finally stepping-up to their namesakes. The Devil’s trill was never really the work of the Devil, but that ice-cream, was, tough love at its best.copyright 2017

Yellow (March 24, 2017) I hated the creepy thing, its sickly yellow, its toothy grin, and those eyes. "Isn't my balloon awesome?" My seven-year-old sister gushed. I wanted to stick my sharpest pen in the thing and watch it pop. Mom will ground me if I did. I'll get rid of it tonight, and no one will know. I sneaked out in the middle of the night, unlocked the window latch, and left the bugger out to fly off.

Nightmares plagued me that night. The mad glimmer in the eyes of the yellowed monster made me want to scream. Florescent sponges gagged my mouth. I wanted to reach out for the shears on the floor. My hands were free, but I could not move. Water dripped from its square-shaped porous frame as it hugged me.

When I woke up, the damn SpongeBob balloon was right there, next to my bed, smiling.